Murray Hill || A Superhuman Tale - 1

Chapter Fourteen

Rhonda reached Pomeroy's an hour later. The pub was just around the corner from home, but she'd taken some time to prepare. The nurse was clad in the simple blue dress Tommy most loved and looked amazing.

When she entered the dining area, Tommy was sitting with a rugged looking man of about 50, dressed in work boots, worn blue jeans, and a t-shirt. There was an old green army field jacket draped over his chair. The stranger seemed to recognize her right off, because he jumped up before Tommy even noticed she was there.

"Hellooo..." the man said in a strong and deep voice, drawing out the word as she approached the table. He seemed more than just a little pleased to see her as he opened his arms in greeting.

The gesture touched her, and the lump in her throat from meeting an old friend of Tommy's began to grow. "It is so, so nice to meet you, Sam. I'm Rhonda."

"So, I can see," he said, showing her the first glimpse of the devil in his grin. Sam immediately rounded on Tommy. "She's too good for you."

"She's too good for both of us," Tommy shot back. "And yet, here she is, sweet enough to class up this gathering of fools. Try not to bite the hand that feeds."

Sam howled.

About that time, two pitchers of beer showed up. Food soon followed. It warmed Rhonda even more that Tommy new her habits well enough to time the order to her arrival. It was the little things with him. Of course, he'd ordered her favorite, as well as two of everything else, or so it seemed. Both Tommy and Sam talked, ate, and drank like there was no tomorrow. And it dawned on her that Sam was like Tommy.

As if reading her thoughts—God, I hope that's not his Gift—Sam turned to her.

"You know, I first met this grisly motherfucker back in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and seventy-one, two weeks after I got back from Viet Naam." He contorted the country's name as many Vets did. "My first thought was, who woulda thought to shave a bulldog's ass and glue it on the shoulders of a human being?"

Rhonda screamed. "I thought it was only me.".

"Nah, nah," growled Sam in his raspy baritone. "He is plain difficult to look at, ain't he? If he wasn't so damn good in bed, I would've dumped him years ago."

Poor Tommy buried his face in his hands and tried to control his laughter.

Rhonda squeezed Tommy's hand. "So, how did you two really meet?"

Sam took another drink of beer. "Mm mm ... like I said. It was San Francisco back in '71, I was just back from Viet Naam, and I was broke."

"Broke, broke," added Tommy.

"Broke, broke," agreed Sam.

"So, how broke is 'broke, broke'?" she asked.

"Well, I had some trouble in Viet Naam," he said confidentially. "Legal trouble ...."

"... he tried to shoot one of his team members in the face," interjected Tommy.

"It was a misunderstanding ... that racist bastard," finished Sam. "Anyway, I ended up spending almost 10 months in country past my original 14-month tour, so I had a pocketful of dinero when I got mustered out in San Francisco."

"When I met Sam, he'd been out of the army for less than two weeks and had not a single penny to his name ...."

"They didn't pay service members for shit back then," pleaded Sam, somewhat testily. "Two years back pay ain't as much money as it sounds."

"So, you ate, drank, and whored your way through two years' pay in what? Two weeks?" asked an incredulous Rhonda.

Sam sat there, his animated face twisting as if he had just eaten something bitter. "Well, it was a very pleasant two weeks," he replied with as much dignity as he could muster.